


You Know Ambulances Aren't Soundproofed, Right?

by sherlockislovely



Series: Awkward. [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amused Lestrade, Embarrassed John, Frottage, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Has No Shame, Worried John, handjobs, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 03:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockislovely/pseuds/sherlockislovely
Summary: Sherlock gets fished from a river after a case (safe and sound, of course) and John is very, very glad he's alive.





	You Know Ambulances Aren't Soundproofed, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> I have three tests, a semester presentation, and multiple assignments due next week, what the fuck am I doing here?

Later, John remembers the rough glide of wool against his fingertips as he reached for Sherlock’s waist, the material slipping from his hands before he could get a hold.

He remembers himself yelling something; Sherlock’s name, most likely. He remembers Sherlock disappearing over the side of the balcony, John catching the metal railing and digging the palms of his hands hard into it as he searched for Sherlock below. He remembers that he couldn’t hear the splash, the ripple of the water as Sherlock landed in the water, over the roar of the wind.

He remembers whispering _no, no, no_ over and over again as his eyes searched the river for the figure of the consulting detective.

Later, John waits nervously at Lestrade’s side as his team combs the river and banks for Sherlock (not his body, _god, no,_ he _has_ to be alive). John clenches and unclenches his fist nervously, feeling that he could – no, _should_ – be doing more.

Lestrade pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers it ( _had it been ringing? John hadn’t noticed over the ringing in his own ears_ ). The inspector’s stature changes and John looks up at him.

“They found him,” Lestrade says, shoving his mobile back into his pocket and turning on his heel. John follows after him in a half-jog.

“Where?”

“Down about a mile. C’mon.”

They climb into Lestrade’s cruiser and as they make their way back onto the main road, John can hear his heartbeat in his ears, loud and harsh and grounding. He taps his fingers on the seat beside his thighs as they near the flashing lights of another police car and an ambulance.

John realizes, as he catches sight of Sherlock’s mop of hair inside the ambulance, that he hasn’t taken a decent breath in hours.

He’s halfway out of the car before it’s even in park, Lestrade’s yell pushed to the back of John’s mind. He’s quickly assessing Sherlock as he approaches, noting that while he has a cut on his forehead that is being tended to by an EMT, he mostly just looks annoyed. He looks okay. He’s breathing, he’s rolling his eyes, he’s _fine._ Sherlock’s gaze catches him and he looks put-out.

“Daniels got away.”

John is so caught off guard by the statement that he utters a dull, “What?”

“The murderer, I lost him. I should have _known_ he was a swimmer,” Sherlock frowns at him like he and everyone else in the world is an idiot. John gapes.

“You- that’s all you have to say?” John hisses, his worry quickly being replaced with anger. He turns to the EMT and says at politely as possible, “Would you give us a moment?”

The woman looks between Sherlock’s bleeding forehead and John and apparently decides it’s not worth the fight.

Alone, Sherlock tries to stand up, but John puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down onto the seat. He pauses for a  moment and then turns to the ambulance door, Lestrade giving him an odd look before he pulls it closed. When he looks back at Sherlock, the detective has a peculiar expression, both exasperated and confused.

John takes a breath and looks down at Sherlock, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, John, I’m fine,” Sherlock says, rolling his eyes at him.

“Good,” John says and anger covers his features, his mouth becoming a thin line and his nose flaring subtly. His left had trembles slightly, but he doesn’t care enough to try and hide it, “You,” He pauses and watches Sherlock raise an eyebrow, “You. Utter. Bastard! You- you prick! How could you do that? How could you risk your life like that! The water is below freezing!”

“John, you know I’ve never been averse to some risk-“

“Shut up! Just, shut up, Sherlock.” And he must be doing something right with his tone because Sherlock does, in fact, shut up. John’s breath catches and he has to blink back tears as he continues, “That was… That was before, wasn’t it? Before this. Us. God, Sherlock, if losing you was hard before, I can’t imagine… I wouldn’t be able to… how could you? How could you…” He’s losing his angry energy and his voice fades out to a whisper.

Sherlock whispers, "It's okay, I'm okay," and reaches for John’s waist, pulling him close enough to press his cheek into John’s stomach. John’s hands automatically reach up and settle into Sherlock’s hair and he closes his eyes as Sherlock mumbles apologies into John’s shirt.

John clutches Sherlock’s shoulders and leans over him, folding his legs on either side of Sherlock on the metal bench of the ambulance. He needs to be close to him, needs to feel him, here, real, _alive._ Sherlock looks at his face, much closer to his now, and blinks, not knowing what to say.

He doesn’t have to say anything, though, because John lowers his body down onto his until he’s sitting on Sherlock’s lap, his nose rubbing against Sherlock’s before he closes the gap between their mouths.

The kiss is desperate but slow, Sherlock wrapping his arms around John’s taught back, clutching at his shirt, and John pushes his tongue past Sherlock’s lips. The detective tastes like dirty water and smells a bit like rubbish and he’s soaked from head to toe, but John can’t find it within himself to care.

“Sherlock…” John whispers against his lips, breaking the kiss to mouth along Sherlock’s jaw, “Sherlock,” he repeats, and it sounds like a prayer, a plea, and Sherlock whimpers (an act he will not admit to, after) when John licks at his pulse point and kisses a line up to his ear.

For a while, they forget they’re in an ambulance, just feet away from NSY’s finest, and they can’t help the burgeoning arousal that hand in the air (and their pants). John rolls his hips and their erections rub against each other through layers of pants and trousers, causing both men to gasp.

“John, please…” Sherlock doesn’t know what he’s asking for, just that he wants more. Needs more. Forgiveness, friction, _John._

The doctor has Sherlock’s trousers undone in no time, pulling the zip aside to grasp Sherlock through the material of his pants. Sherlock moans (quite loudly, he’s embarrassed to realize) and dips his head to meet John’s lips once again. John pushes aside Sherlock’s pants so there is nothing let between them. Just skin on skin, mouth against mouth, and soon he has Sherlock panting and writhing underneath him.

“C’mon, love. Come for me,” John breathes heavily against Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock’s head falls to John’s collarbone and bites down softly as he comes, holding John’s body tightly. His mind is blissfully blank for a moment and when he comes to, John is grinding himself against the space between Sherlock’s hip and thigh and collapsing onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

They sit there for a moment before Sherlock feels John shaking, momentarily panicking before he realizes that John is _laughing._

“Christ. We’re in an ambulance,” John gasps, tears of relief and laughter escaping the corner of his eyes.

“Well, we can check it off the list, then,” Sherlock replies, which only makes John bark out another laugh. Eventually, he calms down enough and sighs.

“I’m still mad at you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Possibly my method of reinforcement might have sent the wrong message,” John says, leaning away. He notices the cut still halfway treated on Sherlock’s forehead, however, and sighs, “I should probably finish patching you up.”

After they’ve cleaned up, both from injuries and, well, more recent activities, John nods at Sherlock once before opening the ambulance door.

When the door swings open, however, there are several pairs of wide eyes looking at them and John immediately feels his face turning red. Lestrade is leaning against his car with his arms crossed and he shakes his head when he looks at them. He gestures for them to come over and John shoves his hands into his pockets, looking resolutely anywhere but the other officers that he’s passing.

When they reach Lestrade, he leans over and says in a low voice, “You know ambulances aren’t soundproofed, right?”

John’s eyes widen and he just looks at the ground. _God, everyone there just heard them, didn’t they?_

“Well, I guess congratulations are in order, then?” Lestrade shifts his jaw and looks between them.

“Yes, John and I have a very healthy sex life,” Sherlock says, and John shuts his eyes in mortification.

“Christ, Sherlock, that’s not what he’s…” John says, but Sherlock cuts him off.

“Do you have anything on Daniels?”

Lestrade, who is looking both extremely amused and little embarrassed, shakes his head, “Nothing yet.”

Sherlock makes a frustrated noise. John rolls his eyes and laces their fingers together, shaking his head, “Let’s go home, then. Lestrade, you’ll call if you get anything?”

Lestrade confirms that he’ll contact them and John nods, pulling a reluctant Sherlock with him.

“I can’t believe I lost him,” Sherlock complains, pouting in a way that John finds oddly endearing.

“C’mon, you giant baby. Let’s get you home before these clothes dry on you and we have to cut them off.”

Sherlock looks over at John and smirks, “Now that’s an idea.”

"We can still hear you, guys," Lestrade says as he gets in his car, and Sherlock laughs at the look on John's face. John, on his part, just decides to walk faster toward the road and waves down a cab. 

And that's the day that John decides he is definitely not into voyeurism. 

 


End file.
